I seem to have acquired some GMail invites. Does anyone or their grandmothers not have one of these damn accounts? I have four five remaining. Drop me an IM or e-mail, and I’ll send you one. No contests, no hoops.

But after all, the very best thing in good talk, and the thing that helps it most, is friendship. How it dissolves the barriers that divides us and loosens all constraint and diffuse itself like some fine old cordial through all the veins of life — this feeling that we understand and trust each other and wish each other heartily well! Everything into which it really comes is good. It transforms letter-writing from a task into a pleasure. It makes music a thousand times more sweet. The people who play and sing not at us, but to us — how delightful it is so listen to them! Yes, there is…

So I managed to get out of the house, into Chapel Thrill, and onto the campus of UNC without much trouble. I even let Michael just about break his back picking me up and twirling me around in a hug. We spent Sunday evening in a large group that included the usual and expected crew of Michael, Jenny, Hannah, Will-yum, and myself, as well as Bert (who’d I met the last time I visited and who seems to be a very cool and laid-back guy, although I had fun watching him be snappish at one point), Jenny’s roommate, Shun (sp?) (another who I’d met earlier in the summer), an interestingly…

So I’m sitting in my room last night, grumpy as hell, right? More news is trickling in about Uncle R, and it’s not good. Aunts and cousins are getting to see him and are reporting back. My mother is not going. My father is trying to send me out to the bank after dark, knowing full well I can’t see well enough to safely navigate busy intersections. My appetite for food has gone with the wind, while my appetite for punishment, shown in a run on a day I needed to take off, was wide open. I chatted with Michael. I miss him and I love him but I missed…